"Lanfranc? You know Lanfranc, lady?"
"By repute only. That he is a noble and learned priest. Whom you are to be congratulated on bringing to the primacy, my lord."
"That is as may be. And this letter?"
"I seek the Archbishop's good offices. With King Malcolm's agreement, I intend to erect a fine stone church at Dunfermline, in the name of the Holy Trinity. As thank-offering for our marriage and the birth of our child. In this land, God-fearing as it is, churches are small, not stone-built, much worship done in the open air. All unworthy as I am, I plan to build a great church, something not seen here ere this, a sanctuary to house the precious relic, the Black Rood, my fragment of the True Cross of Calvary. To God's glory. And I seek the holy Lanfranc's aid and blessing. As head of Holy Church, the Holy Roman Church, in these lands."
"Ha!" said William.
"Clever!" muttered Cospatrick, nudging Maldred.
That young man, like most others there, looked uncomprehendingly, perceiving no point in this, clever or otherwise, where the Norman was concerned.
"You will understand, my lord," Margaret went on, "that we require aid. There is no custom and practice of fine building in stone here. Wood, yes — but not stone. You Normans build strong castles and great churches. The abbots and bishops here have no experience of the sort of church we seek to erect, its style or its plenishing. So this letter seeks the good Archbishop's aid, and his benediction on our endeavour." She drew out a folded and sealed paper from her cloak and offered it to the Conqueror.
He took it distinctly doubtfully. "A ... a noble and worthy project, cousin," he said. "To your credit — yes, to your credit." He turned the letter over, for once that most potent character at something of a loss.
"You see?" Cospatrick whispered. "By that single stroke she has cramped him, given him pause. Sown a seed of question in him. Aye, clever!"
Maldred could only see one more blow struck against his father's Celtic Church.
The Queen spread her hands. "We all seek to be better Christians, do we not? However great our failures."
"H'rr'mm." William cleared his throat and looked at Malcolm, just a little uncomfortable.
The other looked blank, as little assured. Clearly this all was unanticipated on his part.
Count Robert of Mortain snorted. "Enough of this play-acting!" he jerked.
His brother looked at him thoughtfully, then turned back to Margaret. "Yes," he said. "I shall give the letter to Lanfranc. And consider what has been said." He waved a hand. "Now — to business. Here are my terms. If you would have me to leave Scotland. You, Malcolm, swear oath of fealty to me, William. We agree no hostilities between our realms. You harbour no more of my rebels. This Edgar Atheling leaves your borders forthwith. Also this Earl Cospatrick. I had intended that they should become my prisoners, but I will content myself with banishment." This with a glance at the Queen. "Lastly, as token and promise that our agreement will be kept, I require your eldest son as hostage at my Court."
There was more than one sharp intake of breath at that last, including Margaret's and her husband's. No word was spoken for moments on end.
"Well, man — well?" the Norman demanded. "What is it to be?"
"Time," Malcolm got out. "I require time. To consider."
"What will time serve you? There is nothing to consider. Either you accept, or I occupy your kingdom with my forces. And raise up a viceroy to rule it for me. That is all there is to consider. I have modified my demands — for which you have to thank this lady. What need of time?"
"Time I require, nevertheless."
William shrugged. "As you will. A little time I grant you. There is the chapel — it is scarce a church. Go there. Consider — if you must. But. . . my terms are light. And the alternative . . . ?" He left the rest unsaid.
So the Scots filed into the little church of St. Brigit's, Malcolm and Margaret equally silent, tense. Oddly enough it was Cospatrick who led what discussion there was, sounding almost cheerful.
"Look not so black, cousin," he said, in the dim half-light, when the door was shut. "It is none so ill. Better than I had looked for, I swear. For you. Myself, it seems that I must needs go wandering again! But — I am a man of itching feet, anyhow. . ."
"None so ill, fool? When I must swear to be that French bastard's man — I, Malcolm!"
"His bastardy is scarce the worst of him — it happens to many!" That was as far as even Cospatrick would go in reminding Malcolm that he too was a bastard. "Just as this swearing of fealty is not the worst of the present matter. After all, it is but words spoken. Under duress. Words are but words — deeds a deal more weighty! Once the Norman is gone back to his own place, the words will mean . . . only what you wish them to mean. You said yourself, before — get William away, and then see how his terms will hold!"
"Fealty, man — fealty makes ill swearing."
"There is fealty and fealty, cousin. You have no lands in England, I think? But I have. My mother, the Lady Aldgitha of Northumbria, heired lands in England from her mother, the Princess Elgiva, daughter to Ethelred the Unready. Lands in three provinces. Those lands, in name, are mine. I have not set foot on a yard of them since these Normans came. Nor shall I, now. So — I, in my love for you, give them to you, my father's brother's son! Here, before witnesses. Thus, you may make that son of fealty to William, since you must — for those lands in his England. Only that. Although, perhaps you need not say as much, aloud!"
"M'mm." Malcolm peered at him, in the gloom, doubtfully.
"In return, to be sure, I would expect you to keep my earldoms of Dunbar and March reserved for me, during my enforced absence abroad. And have their revenues transmitted to me on my travels. Young cousin Maldred, here, no doubt would serve as my deputy, meantime?"
"You have it all designed!" the King accused. "This you have not just thought of, now, I swear!"
"Agreed. It behoves a man responsible to think on his future. As must you, now. When I heard that Norman William was come, I knew what it would be. But — that is no matter. You must decide, for your realm. Do as I say — or else, seek excuse to get out of William's hands here, now, and once out, flee into the Highlands. And fight the invaders from their fastnesses."
"Aye — that is talking!" the Earl of Angus declared. And there was a murmur of support from other lords.
"That way would lie disaster for all Lowland Scotland," Malcolm declared. "William would treat it as he has treated so much of England. Turn it into a smoking desert..."
"Yes — oh, yes!" Margaret put in. "Never that. The land destroyed. The innocent paying. Never that. Better as Cospatrick says . . ."
wAnd what of me?" Edgar interrupted. "All this — but what of me? What am I to do? Where am I to go?"
Malcolm dismissed his brother-in-law's problems with a flick of the hand. "Go where you were going when that storm drove you into Wearmouth Bay, man. Go to Hungary. Or your kinsman the Emperor. You will be as well there as in Scotland."
"But..."
"This of the Church," Cospatrick interrupted. "It was well thought of, Highness. Quick wits. It gave William pause. Caused him to think anew. If he believes that he has you to aid him. Through the English Church. He will hope to gain the more, at little cost. And so act the more mildly meantime. He requires the Pope's support for what he plans in France. This of Lanfranc was shrewd thinking ..."
"It was honest thinking, my lord. I have had this resolve in my mind since the day of my marriage. When we were wed in that small chapel, without, without. . . with most left outside. A great church, to the greater glory of God. I but mentioned it to William that he might be more . . . clement. Lanfranc is his close friend and spiritual guide. I wrote the letter yesterday, not knowing what today would bring. . ."
"That one seeks no spiritual guide!" MacDuff of Fife snorted. "Satan himself guides him."
"Nevertheless, it was sound thinking. And hit its mark," Cospatrick insisted. "And may serve well hereafter, I think."
> Malcolm was not interested in talk of churches and clerics. "If I make this fealty. For lands in England, it might serve. What else does he ask? To shelter no more of his rebels. That is easily promised, less easily ensured. No further hostilities between the realms. None so ill, that. If I am strong enough to invade England, I am strong enough to forget such agreement!"
"War is to the benefit of none, moreover," the Queen contended. "This, of all, is the least sore requirement, surely?"
Politely, none actually controverted her.
It was left to Maldred to raise the issue of the last conditon. "The hostage? Your Highness's son."
Malcolm grunted. "Aye. God be praised, he does not understand! He said my eldest son. That is Duncan."
There was a pause in that dim, candle-smelling place, less than comfortable.
The King emphasised the position, that there be no mistake. "He does not know. That our Edward is to be my heir. He conceives it to be Duncan, because he is eldest. Let him so believe."
A number of those present were less than happy with this statement. Admittedly the Celtic monarchy was not wholly concerned with primogeniture, succession often going to the most able of the royal house, as in the clan polity, sometimes even a nephew taking preference over an inadequate son. But this was a decision for later, when young people could be judged, and for the realm's high council of righ, or lesser kings, to take. That Malcolm should have already chosen this infant and set aside the two princes by Ingebiorg, was contrary to both nature and tradition.
"He could never have taken Edward, my baby!" Margaret cried. "He, he would have had to have taken me also!"
"Never fear," her husband said, "that he would not." He looked round them all. "So be it. We accept his terms. In name. It will be necessary to produce young Duncan. From my brother's house in Mamlorn. Maldred, you had better go fetch him. He knows you."
"It will be a sore matter for him, Highness. A boy of eleven years . . ."
"None so sore. It will be something new. As well in England as in the wilds of Mamlorn."
Margaret bit her lip but said nothing.
So they moved out, and William saw them again — although once more they had a considerable wait.
"I have decided that I must accept your terms," Malcolm declared bluntly.
"Wise." The Norman was equally brief. "You will take the oath? Fealty?"
"Yes."
"The rebels and trouble-makers will be banished?" "Yes."
"And the prince? Your son."
"I shall send for him. He is at my brother Donald's house, in Mamlorn. In the Highlands. A long clay's journey."
"Then have him here without delay. My forty thousand are a charge on your realm until I have him! And meantime I will supply you with a guard of my best knights. It would be a pity if you, and this fair lady, were to suffer the attentions of my unruly soldiery! Whilst you wait."
"That will not be necessary. I have ample guards of my own."
"It will, however, be my pleasure. And duty. You know how invading troops may behave! Say no more." All knew that it was only a precaution lest Malcolm should indeed have second thoughts and seek to bolt behind the Highland Line.
So under large escort they were conducted back to Culfargie. And from there, that same late afternoon, Maldred set out on his long ride to Mamlorn.
He went up Strathearn, using the old Roman road, by Gask and Strowan, to Loch Earn. Then climbed steep Glen Ogle to the head of Loch Tay, and so over the high pass of the Lairig nan Lochan at the west shoulder of great Beinn Lawers to Glen Lyon. And there, off that lovely wooded valley winding through the lofty mountains, up a little side-glen, was Loch Deabhra, really only a flooded valley-floor, at the head of which, on an artificial crannog, or island, built of stones and logs and turf, rose the hall-house of Donald Ban mac Duncan, lawful son of the King Duncan whom MacBeth had slain. It was an extraordinary place for a king's son to live, hidden away in these remote fastnesses. It had been a hunting-seat and fort combined of the Scots Kings of Dalriada, or Dalar, remaining royal property and in occasional use after the union of the Picts and Scots. MacBeth had given it to his stepson Lulach, who succeeded MacBeth as King for five months until Malcolm slew him also. Donald Ban and Lulach had been close friends, too close some unkind folk suggested; and had dwelt here together. Having little love for his half-brother Malcolm, and few ambitions as to power and the life of the Court, he had stayed on at Deabhra, content with the simple life. Unlike the King in so many ways, he was something of a scholar, as had been Lulach — fit only for the Church, in Malcolm's estimation. They had gathered together a notable library in this sequestered spot; and Donald, when he left it, usually did so to visit other scholars of the Celtic Church, occasionally his uncle Melmore of Atholl. So Maldred knew him fairly well. Now Malcolm had at last found some use for his awkward brother, as keeper and tutor of his unwanted sons Duncan and Donald Beg.
As it transpired, Malcolm was right, and Prince Duncan showed no distress at the news of his sudden summons into the outer world. Donald Ban, a quiet, withdrawn man, notably fair of hair and beard — hence his by-name of Ban — seemed only mildly concerned at losing one of his charges. Only the young Donald Beg, ten years old, was at all upset, and that because he too would have liked to have gone adventuring.
Maldred was no more than twelve hours at Deabhra, the King having impressed on him the need for haste, the urgency of getting the English away and off their necks at the earliest moment. The boy Duncan would not be able to ride so fast and far as he had done on the outward journey, so going back would take longer. They were up with the dawn, therefore, and with fresh horses set off for Fortrenn just after sunrise, Donald Beg tearful, his brother scornful, bright-eyed, eager. Maldred did not know whether to warn the boy that what lay ahead of him was not likely to be all excitement and adventure. On the other hand, hostages for lofty folk often did quite well at an enemy Court. Young Duncan was a fairly tough character anyway, much less sensitive than his brother. Apart from explaining what a hostage was, then, he added little.
They covered the ground well, in poorish weather, and got as far as St. Fillan's monastery at the tail-end of Loch Earn that evening, and rode down the Earn to reach its junction with the opening estuary of Tay next day, by noon.
The royal party at Culfargie awaited them impatiently, only the Queen showing any concern for the young prince. No time was lost in making a move over to Abernethy, in their company of arrogant Norman knights.
This time they were received promptly enough, without any of the infuriating waiting. Presumably William himself had had enough of waiting around. He was curt — except to Margaret — and businesslike. Actually he greeted young Duncan more civilly than his father had done.
It was a day of intermittent rain-showers, and William elected to hold such ceremony as there was indoors, in the eating-hall of the abbey. One king swearing fealty to another was a very major event, and was not to be conducted in any hole-and-corner fashion. And there had to be sufficient witnesses. On the other hand, no lengthy procedure had to be involved — and neither William nor Malcolm were men much inclined to ceremonial.
In the centre of the crowded refectory, then, the Conqueror produced his chaplain and clerk, William de Poictiers, a foxy-faced individual with a shirt-of-mail showing under his monk's habit, a gospel scroll held in his hand. He instructed Malcolm to kneel before William.
"No, clerk," the King said flatly. "The King of Scots kneels only before Almighty God."
"But... it is necessary, Your Grace."
"Not so. I do not kneel."
"The oath of fealty, my lord King, must be taken kneeling..."
"Mon Dieu — let it be!" William jerked. "So long as he takes it, head bowed, it will serve."
"As you say, Sire." The monk looked sour. "King Malcolm — take King William's hand in both your own. Then rest them on this Holy Writ."
The Conqueror held out his right hand, palm vertical. Grimly, distastefully
, the other placed his own hands on either side of it.
"Now, repeat after me, head bowed, 'I, Malcolm, King of Scotland.
"I, Malcolm, King of Scots . . ." the other amended — and if his head was bowed, it was so little as to be unnoticeable.
". . . do hereby take you, William, King of England and Lord Paramount of Scotland . . ."
". . . do hereby take you, William, King of England “
". . . Lord Paramount of Scotland!"
"King of England, styled Lord Paramount of Scotland."
The priest glanced at the Conqueror — who, expressionless, gave the merest nod.
". . . to be my lord of life and limb and I your man, for the land I hold under God..."
". . . to be my lord of life and limb for the lands I hold under God ..." Malcolm's lips continued to move for a moment thereafter, but soundlessly. And probably few noticed that he had said lands instead of land.
"Moreover, I swear to support and uphold you, William, with all the strength of my land ..."
"... I swear to support and uphold you, William, with all the strength of my lands . . ." Again the lips moved.
". . . and to adjudge all your enemies as my enemies — so help me God!"
". . . and to adjudge all your enemies as my enemies — so help me God!"
Malcolm released the other's hand as though it was burning him, William looking grimly amused. They stared at each other for a long moment, two bastards, the miller of Forteviot's daughter's son, and the tanner of Falaise's daughter's son.
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